Ramen Drama
by Chyme for the Rhyme
Summary: Katsuki had sucked it up and already had dinner with Izuku's mother, twice now. Which meant it was finally Izuku's turn to brave the Bakugou household for what promised to be an eventful meal. Because as we all know, anything involved with Katsuki was due to become an 'event'. [Sort of a sequel to 'Katsudon Warfare ']


Masaru had known something was up with his son. It had started with one of their brief weekend visits; Katsuki may not have come home as often as Masaru would have liked, but the fact that he came at _all_ spoke volumes.

His mother had been much the same way, he reflected, back when they started dating. All the nonchalant shoulder shrugs and baleful glares from red eyes when he asked her things about her life over a small, prettily decorated table, the cloth as white as icing on a cake, had just screamed, _'I like you, I want to, but I can't show it yet. Disarm me, first._ _ **Prove**_ _you can do it.'_ Odd, considering she had been the one who threw flowers in his face in the first place and spat out 'Seven. Take me to that nice shit at Bisboccia.'

And all the while, that silent implication in her glowering red eyes, that if he didn't turn up, she'd murder his ass at work and get the promotion he'd been dreaming off the past few months. 'Then I'd always have been above you,' she preened at him in the restaurant later, revealing his deduction to have been correct, and Masaru congratulated himself on his skill at reading her body language. 'And you'd always be beneath me, wondering 'what if?'

Of course, that hadn't prevented her from earning that promotion anyway a few days later. And on it had went, him chasing her up the ladder of their workplace, sometimes eclipsing her, sometimes not; enjoying a rare year's worth of stability when she took time off to have Katsuki, before the chase to be better, to have a title, a position cementing their superiority over the other, took off in full force again.

Masaru sometimes wondered what it was like to have a romantic relationship that wasn't also a rivalry in one sense. But he never wondered long. And it did make him sometimes wonder if Katsuki would share the same inclination. Then again, Katsuki never really shared any sort of taste for romance at all.

Which was why, one rare Saturday, when he caught Katsuki flicking through a photo album, his mind went on high alert. And a strange, almost-klaxon like alarm roared through his head, as Katsuki _paused_ on one of the pages, his fingers posed mid-flick, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

'Well, this is certainly unusual,' Masaru said cheerfully, carefully settling himself next to Katsuki on the sofa. Casually, very casually, he draped his arm, over the high-rise flush of green pillows that rode out beneath the base of his son 's spine. Katsuki stiffened, but didn't move away, and Masaru counted that as a success. 'I can count the number of times I've seen you settle down with a photo-album on your lap with a single hand. What's brought on this-' Masaru cut himself off, as he caught the background orange hue of candles within the small A5 sized photos and the way they played out a sheen of gold over his past-girlfriend-now-wife's skin. It didn't even matter that Katsuki was now hunched over and glaring at him, fingers spread over the evidence and preventing the lovely scarlet of his wife's past gaze from reaching out of the album and trapping Masaru's own. The night was forever emblazed across his mind.

 _'Oh dear, have I created a stalker?' Mitsuki had teased him back then, a trace of wry fondness in her eyes as Masaru fumbled with the camera app in his phone. Too late, he had realised what it must have looked like, asking for a photo of a woman on their first date. Forward. Presumptuous. Possibly a little creepy._

 _But that, he had realised, as she had then leaned forward with a snarl of a grin, and locked eyes with his own, the courage behind that daring act might be something Mitsuki respected._

He imagined Katsuki might be the same way now in that regard. Because he was at that age, wasn't he? Gruffer and perhaps more violent than his wife, to be sure, but Masaru was sure that given their similarities, Katsuki would probably be looking from someone who could and would stand up to him, or at least challenge him. The criteria he used to pick out a possible partner, given his chosen career, would probably be harsher than the one his wife had used to select _him_ , but still- Masaru stopped. Threw another look at the way Katsuki was glowering at him, all the ready to bark out something defensive. And began to smile.

'What the hell are you looking so happy about, old man? Damn, you look like a psycho.'

Masaru shifted. He would have to approach this carefully then.

'Not many men are as lucky as I am, to get a wife that doesn't seem to age.' He nodded carefully over to the picture Katsuki was still covering, and almost reluctantly, his son uncurled his fingers to reveal his wife, hair cropped a little shorter, but with her skin and face shape still virtually identical to the one she was wearing upstairs today. A side effect of exerting a substance that helped to constantly moisture her skin in a way human sweat rarely could, one that ran deep into the epidermis and part of the dermis of her skin in order to smooth out and prevent wrinkles before they formed. If she had found a way to market it without severely dehydrating herself, they could have been rich.

Katsuki's face developed a cruel sneer. 'Are you saying you landed the jackpot, with her quirk and all? Wow. You sound like a pimp.'

Masaru raised his eyebrows. 'Without it, you would have ended up with something very different to the quirk you have now, and possibly one not as well-suited to being a hero.'

Katsuki glowered, thrust his jaw out defiantly, and let his eyes drop. 'Yeah, okay, shit, you're right,' he muttered, and Masaru worked very hard not to drop out of his chair in shock. It was still, despite everything, hard to believe how much his son had mellowed out, since attending UA.

'You've never seemed too interested in the way your mother and I got together,' he said softly. 'What's brought all this out?' He indicated the album with a nod of his head and bit his tongue to prevent himself saying something stupid like _'never thought I'd see the day you developed interest in something in our lives that happened before_ _ **you**_ _were present in them.'_

Katsuki glowered even harder, as though he'd heard the unspoken sentiment anyway. Then glared down at the photo of his mother as though it had personally offended him.

'Did you get her flowers or anything?' he asked, near _spat_ , after a few seconds of strained silence.

Masaru blinked. 'No, I...your mother didn't seem like the type to be impressed with a cliché gesture like that. I got her some of her favourite pepper flaked snacks instead. Of course,' he paused to laugh nervously, scratching his cheek as he did so, 'that didn't prevent _her_ from turning up with a big bouquet of purple roses for _me_. You can imagine the surprise I felt, to see her standing outside the restaurant, waiting to thrust them under my nose!'

But Katsuki didn't laugh, the way Masaru's male friends had, when he had confessed the truth to them a few days later. Instead he developed a thoughtful look. '...Huh. Yeah, guess that would work. You've always been the sappy one.' His eyes clouded over as though he were thinking of someone else.

And Masaru clenched his fist in triumph. He knew it! His son _was_ at that age! He quickly reined it in before Katsuki could get too suspicious.

'In all fairness, I suppose it wasn't a total surprise. She was the one who asked me out, and err, sort of blackmailed me at the same time...'

Katsuki gave him a funny look, so Masaru felt obliged to explain his mother's past 'threat' of flying past him, up the corporate ladder if he said 'no.'

An appreciative gleam shone in his son's eyes. 'Huh. The old hag had game.' And then it faded, winked out by a strange a sort of melancholy that flooded his expression. 'But that won't work with my situation.'

Masaru grabbed onto this life-raft with both metaphorical hands.

'There's a situation? With who?'

Katsuki gave him a wry look. But to Masaru's gratitude and complete and utter surprise, his son didn't snarl or explode into numerous shouts and rants. Instead, he glanced back down at the photo, with not exactly a wistful expression, but there was still _somethin_ g there that Masaru couldn't quite get a grip on recognising.

'Mum would have fucked you over, no question, if you'd have turned her down. But she didn't do anything to screw you over before, in the office, right?'

It wasn't even a question. Not really. Katsuki sounded so certain.

Masaru frowned, unsure what was going on. 'No, of course not! What kind of woman do you think your mother...why would you even...'

Katsuki seemed to shrink in on himself at Masaru's confusion. It was one of the oddest things his father had ever seen him do.

'Right,' came his son's sullen voice a moment later. 'Fuck. Flowers it is. Massive, sunshine, everything-is-fucking-great yellow ones, that will make him sneeze his head off.'

 _Him?_ Masaru thought worriedly. He tried to digest that. Then shook himself. He could understand attraction to a woman. But to a...? He stared at his son, who was now glaring at him defiantly, arms crossed as though he hadn't just thrown a bomb into the living room and was now waiting to see if it would go off. Those red eyes he'd inherited from his mother, narrowed even more. Analysing him, Masaru thought in a panic, like a cat with a mouse.

And then, as if nothing untoward had happened, Katsuki snapped the album closed with a grunt, placed it back on the coffee table and walked off, hands in his pockets. And given that the next few times he saw Masaru, he never brought the subject up again, Masaru wondered if perhaps this was Katsuki's elaborate idea of a joke, some massive 'screw-you' he was offering up. Of course, over the next few months, when nothing more was said, he started to reassure himself that it was that and nothing more. And ended up forgetting all about it.

* * *

'Oi hag.'

Katsuki's starting words, months after the incident Masaru had cheerfully erased from his memory, was nothing unusual. In fact, most of his requests tended to start with them. Or, well, _demands._ It was part of the reason, Mitsuki felt the need to reach over and clip him on the ear.

'The name's 'Mom' or 'Mother,'' she said without missing a beat. 'I could have sworn I remembered teaching you to talk...how sad it is that you don't remember the simple things. Like using the correct name.'

Katsuki glowered at her, hands shoved in the pocket of his trousers that were, as usual, perched dangerously low on the contours of his hips. One day, Mitsuki thought wistfully, a villain was going to reach out and easily yank them down on live television, when Katsuki wasn't in his hero costume. Let's see how he deals with his fashion choices, then, she thought with a mental chuckle.

'You too, old man,' her son added after a moment.

Mitsuki hummed and put down the calendar she had been marking important work meetings down on. The year was flying by; and so were the lost instances of time with her son, who was growing up, faster and further away from her. Without even noticing, he had seemed to gain an inch in the three weeks since the last time he had actually trotted over to sit at their kitchen table.

'I want to bring someone round for dinner next Thursday,' her son spat out. 'He's already got me to come and make nice with his mom, and I can't have him one-upping me, so now it's your turn, **okay!'**

That last word had come out a little too violently and heated for Mitsuki's liking, so she gave him another irate cuff on the head. 'That's no way to ask for a favour!' she exclaimed, but her husband was quick to lay a gentle hand on her own.

'So,' he said, as jovially as he could manage, 'who is this friend of yours? That nice Kirishima?'

Katsuki's face turned a vague purple. 'Shitty-hair? Urgh, no.'

 ** _Shitty-hair?!_** Mitsuki despaired sometimes, she really did. How her son had actual friends was beyond her, just look at what he had done to poor Izu-

'It's fucking Izuku, okay?!' her son spat out, half-heartedly kicking the table leg. It wobbled dangerously, and for once, Mitsuki didn't reach over to swipe at him for it. Instead her mind had folded over, upturned and sank into a calming grey buzz. How many years had it been, she wondered dimly, since the name 'Izuku' escaped her son's lips? It was always 'Deku this' and Deku that' for as long as she could remember. Recently, yes, the vitriol had left the nickname, a calm tone reaching in to caress the syllables when Katsuki spoke them, though there was still a bite of gruffness to the name but...'Izuku' was a name she had thought left behind to the past.

Even her husband looked surprised. 'Oh,' he said. 'I didn't realise you two were on speaking terms again.'

Katsuki seemed to hunch into his chair even further at that. He looked, Mitsuki thought suddenly, and with a startling clarity, like a scared cat, ready to bristle and run.

'We're on more than 'speaking terms,' Katsuki grit out. 'We're...we're fucking...' he turned red and looked ready to sink under the table. Mitsuki felt a brush of annoyance at the sight, and was about to act on it, when her son suddenly reared up, looked at them both a little wildly and said. 'He's my fucking boyfriend, **alright!** And he'll definitely end up shaking like a leaf the whole time he's here, and yeah, it's funny as fuck, but if you laugh at him, _I'll fucking end you_.' Then his mouth closed like a trap. But his eyes were still screaming, still bulging, still looking a little crazed.

Her husband's hand fell from her own.

Mitsuki's mind meanwhile, was in a blank haze.

'I-I-I,'

God, when was the last time, she'd stuttered? She couldn't remember. Honestly couldn't remember.

Katsuki's eyes were still crazed and he was now looking at her...a little fearfully? So Mitsuki reached down deep inside her, and ran an uncharacteristically gentle hand through his hair and down over his cheek.

Katsuki looked at her as though she'd ended the world.

'I always liked Izuku,' she confessed. 'And as long as you're not doing anything that will end up with him going to the hospital,'- a dark look sank into her son's face at that, but Mitsuki ploughed on, because she wasn't blind, she knew what those looks Inko had been throwing her over the years whenever they crossed paths in the convenience store meant. '-then I'll make him a meal that will make him think he's fucking died and gone to heaven.'

The swearing seemed to calm Katsuki down in a way nothing else did.

Her husband coughed. 'I presume Izuku is the one you wanted to get the yellow flowers for?'

Instantly a look of angry dread reared up and kicked its way across Katsuki's face. And Mitsuki felt glee dance its way across her own.

'Oooooh,' she purred. 'My son thinks he's quite the grown-up, huh? A real smooth operator.'

'Die,' her son spat out. And Mitsuki promptly cuffed him on the head again.

She didn't notice that her husband's hand stayed rigidly away from her own the rest of the day. But she did see the way his gaze ducked and weaved from Katsuki's own the rest of the time he was here. Only after her son had spat out a wretched 'bye,' and stamped his way out of their door, did she whirl on him, eyes spitting fire.

'The. Fuck. Was. That!' she demanded, voice low.

He shrugged at her, looking lost. 'I'm not sure.' The worse of it was, he really looked like he believed that.

'Then you'd better work it out then,' Mitsuki spat out, her fist bumping into her husband's chest with enough force to rattle his ribs beneath; it was she who taught her son how to throw a punch properly, after all. 'Because Izuku will be here on Thursday at six sharp, a thoroughly nervous wreck, because Inko has actually _managed_ to wrestle more knowledge about social nuances into his head than we ever succeeded with Katsuki, and I will not have you chasing him out of here, with your cold fish approach. If Katsuki chases him out, fine: that's his relationship to fuck up. But you don't have vetoing power there.'

Her husband sighed and looked away. 'I know.' He actually had the gall to still look confused though.

Mitsuki huffed and turned away, to put a dark, vigorous line through the weekend she'd planned on surprising him with some lingerie. Then she scribbled over it furiously, the calendar's numbers rapidly disappearing under the mess of biro scratchings she left in her wake.

The wait to Thursday would be a long, cold one, she knew. In part because she and her husband wouldn't be able to fall asleep nestled in each other's arms for it's duration. A shame. She savoured being the big spoon.

'Do you want me to take the couch?' he asked timidly.

She shook her head. 'No,' she said disgust in her tone. 'Just...work it out Masaru.'

She thudded her way back into the kitchen, pausing to examine her own thoughts. How did she feel about her son picking on another boy to date? Well. He was a teenager. So the idea of it lasting longer than high school, was possibly a little far-fetched. She might still get biological grandchildren out of Katsuki. Unless he liked dick in general and not just Izuku's.

Mitsuki sighed. Perhaps she had no right to criticise her husband. She wasn't exactly a hundred percent okay with this either. On the other hand, Izuku was genuinely nice; he had posted birthday cards through their letterbox up until he was eleven. And the few times she saw him out and about, he had been respectful towards her. The smile had never quite reached his eyes, but he hadn't been particularly biting or cold in his 'good mornings' towards her either. Which spoke well of him; not everybody could separate the actions of the individual from the rest of their family.

Really, Katsuki could do much worse than a boy who, still, after all this time, seemed to worship the ground her son stomped over...as long as her son wasn't still stomping over him, that was. Mitsuki decided to reserve judgement until after Thursday was over. If Katsuki was still being a little bitch to Izuku, she might have to put a call through to Inko, or even the school. Just the thought set her teeth on edge.

But then sometimes being a good parent meant being ready, and willing to betray your child. Especially if they wanted to be a hero.

* * *

Fair was fair. Relationships were about give and take. Izuku _knew_ that. Still. He wasn't sure that merited the sudden bombshell Kacchan decided to drop on him Tuesday evening.

'Excuse me?' he asked eloquently, managing to drag his head from out of his notebook at such speed, that the barest whift of a breeze stirred the pages, to make them crinkle and fall over his fingers. 'K-kacchan, can you...repeat that?'

Kacchan, who was currently engaged in scrawling out some paragraphs about the process of vetoing the clean-up crews responsible for cleaning up post-city-battle debris, tapped his pen against the freshly laid lines of ink, eyes never flicking away from Izuku's. Izuku for his part, let his drop, to watch, with no little jealously as said lines refused to smudge; Kacchan always knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure. Unlike Izuku, who had already ruined countless sentences in his own books. It was why he let his pen drop and roll _away_ from his work, whenever he paused, or else lifted it away from the paper entirely.

'You heard me,' Kacchan said lowly. 'Now what's your fucking answer?'

Izuku closed his eyes, annoyed. ' _Please,_ ' he said, and risked a peek.

Kacchan's face was twisted with annoyance, but no snarl opened up his expression, the way it would have even half a year ago. 'I _said_ , fucker, do you want to come round for to my parents' house on Thursday and choke down whatever my Mum thinks passes for actual food?' This last part was asked with an actual sneer, but this time his eyes had gone just hazy enough for Izuku to know that the glare being thrown his way was more directed at the invisible matriarch of the Bakugo household several miles away than him.

Izuku, whose eyes were now fully open, let out a puff of amused breath, and before Kacchan's glare had time to re-focus fully back on him at the sound, well, he rather staunchly asked, 'Wait, y-y-you mean they know about _us?_ '

Okay, that last word came out in a near squeak, but the rest came out with barely a stammer to mar them. _Barely._ Alright, so it was only _most_ of them that came out okay. _Most ._ But still...

It didn't matter. Because Kacchan was grinning again, previous ill mood forgotten in light of this reminder that Izuku had the vocals of a startled chicken. 'Hah!' he said, actually dropping his pen and placing his book to one side in order to stand and loom over Izuku, only somewhat threateningly. 'Of course, they know, idiot! You think I would be too much of a coward to own up to our shit? You're forgetting yourself, _Deku._ '

And as though to empathise this, he then jabbed a finger into the side of Izuku's cheek and rolled it with a deliberate twist. It felt truly odd, like a small animal pushing its snout into his face for attention; but because it was Kacchan doing it, and more importantly, because the other boy could do it _harder,_ with enough force to make Izuku's eye water, Izuku didn't protest.

Instead, he gave Kacchan the muted satisfaction of a half-hearted 'ow, ow, stop it,' and batted the intruding finger away with a flick of his own. Gone were the days when Kacchan could indeed, push him back into his place with a simple shove. And here, instead, were the ones where Kacchan would allow Izuku to push back without direct, over-the-top retaliation.

Izuku _loved_ it.

'It's a valid question, Kacchan,' he felt himself say, feeling an exasperated, yet warm flutter in his throat at the way Kacchan frowned down at him. There was an odd disappointment in the other boy's eyes and a rather sullen set to his mouth; Izuku deemed it Kacchan's pouting expression. Or as close to one as he could manage. On anyone else it would look cute, but because it was _Kacchan's_ face wearing it, it looked like he was being somewhat strangled.

Added to the fact, that Izuku knew the reason behind the pout was because of how half-hearted his 'ow's' had been a few seconds earlier, and really, he knew he shouldn't have found it adorable at all. The fact that he _did_ , gave credence to Jirou's rather flat, 'well, you two are kind of perfect for each other,' assessment when she found them wrestling each other for the last dollop of strawberry-flavoured toothpaste on Saturday. Her follow-up sentence of 'your life-stories could be cut and pasted into a yaoi manga; tweens would eat up the drama like it's pocky,' made Izuku feel not so good about said assessment; but then again, he tried not to think too much in general about what their classmates thought of their relationship. He was aware that some of them probably expected it to fail and fall apart, given their chaotic way of dealing with each other in classes; and honestly, he couldn't blame them. It still wasn't too pleasant to muse on, though.

'I told you when I was going to tell my mother,' he said steadily, ignoring Kacchan's muttered, 'yeah, took that like a pro, didn't she?'

Izuku shook his head, conveniently chasing away the ghost of his mother's horrified expression from his head, and the way she had fumbled and dropped her cleaning cloth the moment he had told her he and Kacchan were actually a _thing_. 'Weeeell,' Izuku mumbled, shoulders shifting uncomfortably. 'I figured you might tell me when you were ready to do the same. It's a simple courtesy Kacchan; I didn't want you caught off-guard in case my Mom wanted to you know, get in contact with you and ask weird questions about how we were getting on, so-'

He was cut off by a bark of laughter from Kacchan. 'What?' he demanded, feeling a flush creeping up his neck. His fingers tightened into a fist, crinkling the pages in his notebook even more. 'What?! Why are you laughing?'

'Is that why you invited me over for dinner, without giving me the 'courtesy' of a warning first, huh?' Kacchan demanded, malicious mirth in every word. He prodded a finger into Izuku's chest. ''Cos that took balls. Really caught me 'off-guard,' Izu-'

' _K-K-Kach-suki,_ ' Izuku cut off rapidly, fighting the twitch in his gut that came with Kacchan's newfound weapon of using his actual name against him. And was dimly gratified to see Kacchan sputter in return, turning a pale red at the tried usage of his _own_. The last syllable of 'Izuku' was forever lost to a wheeze that escaped his boyfriend's throat, and Izuku proudly sailed on with his own words over said boyfriend's instinctive mutter of 'I'll kill you'.. .all the while desperately trying not to squirm in embarrassment at the fact he'd tried to use _Katsuki's actual name, and failed, oh my God._

Perhaps 'Kacchan' was rooted a little too deeply inside his subconscious to be removed that easily.

'I just want to make sure they don't _hate_ me,' he continued staunchly, trying to ignore the fact that Kacchan's smug look just dripped of a positive _'ha, can't even say my real name right, when I can say yours, dumb Deku,'_ sentiment.'

'...or at least I want to be prepared if they do. Or well, I guess I wanted...' he trailed off and twiddled his thumbs. He wasn't sure how to say 'I wanted to make sure they were alright with you not being straight before shoving our relationship in front of them'.

Kacchan squinted at him, smugness dying off. 'Deku, I know my Mum's an actual monster,'- (and _why_ was there actual pride in his voice at that, Izuku fretted) - 'but she's not gonna kill me for liking dick. Or you, either. Though she will get a kick out of seeing you squirm like a fucking rabbit in a trap on Thursday.' Here he gave a sharp grin to reassure Izuku, that yes, he found the idea equally as appealing as she would.

'I didn't say I was going,' Izuku muttered, thumbs still twiddling. But he sounded weak and defeated, and Kacchan's grin just widened in response.

'Don't worry, Deku,' he practically purred, slinging one strong arm over Izuku's shoulder, his hand brushing over the warmly-fluttering pulse and tightening into a fist to offer a small, friendly knock against the throat that suddenly danced out in a nervous swallow, above. 'They'll be plenty of spices mixed in with my the stuff the ol' hag calls 'cooked', and I know what your babyish taste-buds are like; you'll be gulping down so much water, that'll you'll spend the rest of the time pissing it all away in the bathroom. You won't have time to talk to my parents at all.'

Izuku eyed him warily. He was surprised Kacchan still hadn't dealt out the major card; he'd already had dinner with Izuku's mother, twice now, so fair was fair, and Izuku had to cough it up. A hero wouldn't do anything less.

'...Should I bring a gift?' he asked quietly, thinking of the years of absence between them, and the once frequent phone calls between his mom and Kacchan's, asking if one of them wanted to come over and play. How would Kacchan's parents feel about his sudden re-emergence in their son's life?

Kacchan's hold on him loosened and a dark scowl fell over his face.

'Deku,' he growled. 'What the fuck? No! Are you trying to buy them off or something?'

Izuku gave him a horrified look. 'What, no! I-'

Kacchan let out a bark of laughter and practically preened at him, the sneer riding hard and fast up the lines of his face, crooked and thoroughly amused.

Izuku frowned and roughly shouldered him off. 'Kacchan, you're mean,' he pronounced huffily for what seemed like the thousandth time in their relationship, thoroughly aware that as per usual, it would make not the slightest bit of difference.

'Yeah,' Kacchan agreed cheerfully, leaning back over to pinch Izuku's cheek. 'But you're still here aren't 'cha?'

Yes, thought Izuku glumly. He was.

'Besides,' Kacchan added, a trace of something serious creeping over his face and entering his voice, making it even gruffer than usual. 'You shouldn't be acting like you have to pay them off to spend time with me. I'm the one who decides that. Why do you think I never bothered getting anything for your Mom? She had to suck it up and deal with us in her own freakish way. No gift would have changed that.' Kacchan paused, a tentative look entering his eyes. 'Sides, doing that probably would have made things worse.'

Izuku winced. Kacchan had a point. His mom probably would have looked at anything he gave her as though it were poison.

'Alright,' he said. 'No gift. Just...just me, then, I guess.'

Kacchan grinned and pinched his cheek. 'That's right, nerd. Better prepare yourself. Your tongue's gonna swell up like a balloon. You won't be able to mutter for a week.'

Now, Izuku thought affectionately. It was saying things like that that made people think Kacchan was a bad boyfriend in general. However, the hand not pinching his cheek, the one that was busy rolling over his back, in just the right way to soothe the stiff contours of his hunched over spine, _that_ was the part of Kacchan that many others would never get to benefit from.

Izuku was oddly okay with that.

* * *

Izuku was not okay with this. Thursday had come and gone in a whirl, evening had fallen with a blur of displaced time, and he was here, outside a house he had not entered since he was five. His knees were now knocking together like they wanted to play out a drumbeat and his whole body had become awash in shakes; it was like his nerves had given up and decided that today an earthquake was taking place in his body, whether he liked it or not.

'The hell is wrong with you?' Kacchan asked, eyeing him warily.

In response, Izuku simply shoved his hands firmer into his pockets, swallowed down the knot forming in his throat, and worked on shoving breathes out of his nose.

Kacchan shook his head. 'You looked bugged-eyed at the station, and were being your usual weedy self on the bus, but you didn't try to turn into an actual freak until we were actually outside my parents' house? What the hell are you doing, is this on purpose?' He stalked forwards menacingly which Izuku found a tad-overdramatic; they were barely three steps away from each other after all. 'You better not be chickening out on me, Deku.' His hand fisted in Izuku's shirt, the very moment that the door swung open, the slender shadow of Kacchan's mother falling over them both and spreading out over the pathway like a ghoul; a pathway that right now, beneath Izuku's feet, felt about as secure as jelly.

'Oh?' she purred, eyes half-liding in a way that was purely predatory. 'I thought I saw you two lingering outside from the kitchen; did Katsuki actually _forget_ his keys this time?'

She said it in such a way that it was clear, to everybody there, that she knew full well that the chances of Kacchan falling victim to such a bout of absent-minded normality, was practically zero. And the way her eyes lingered on the tight scrunch of t-shirt fabric still enclosed in her son's fist, spoke volumes about why she might actually have opened the door.

Kacchan of course, couldn't take a hint; or rather, he would receive a hint and then just dig in his heels further anyway. Izuku did not quite let out a sigh when Kacchan's fist tightened, enough to drag the blood away from his fingers and bleach them into pale ghosts of themselves, but it was a near thing.

'WHY THE HELL WOULD I FORGET MY OWN KEYS TO MY SHITTY PARENTS' HOUSE! WHAT SORT OF DUMB-FUCK DO YOU THINK I AM!'

'A dumb-fuck who wants to disturb the neighbours and end up on the front page of their online blog, maybe,' said a calm voice from behind Kacchan's mother. And then suddenly Kacchan's father was there, his large shadow filling up all the gaps his wife's left open. Izuku forced himself to gulp down his shock. Because he had had no idea that Kacchan's father was...well...he had always been so polite and flustered and always left his wife to answer Kacchan's smart comments...so this new snark was just unreal.

Kacchan let out a strangled wheeze, and his grip lightened. But only slightly.

'Don't you start, old man,' he said, eyeing both his parents warily.

Perhaps, Izuku told himself firmly, he should stop being shocked by behaviour from people he hadn't seen in years; and in all honestly the only memories he had of Kacchan's father was from when he was _four._ Maybe he just try to focus on leaving a good impression instead.

'It's nice to see you both again,' he managed, forcing a wavering smile onto his face; it was hard given that Kacchan's Dad now also had his eyes fixed on Kacchan's hand twisting in his shirt, and the slight cold nip he suddenly felt at his stomach told Izuku that yes, his boyfriend's fist had swallowed enough of his clothing to let the air outside accost his stomach.

'Um, I, have a gift for you Bakugou-san!' he said hurriedly, shoving his hand inside his pocket and withdrawing it to reveal a small red cylinder. 'And er, here!' His other hand emerged from his left pocket with something encased in a thin sheet of plastic. 'It's a sugar mouse,' he added helpfully at the other's man's surprised expression. 'My Dad sometimes sends home foreign sweets from his work overseas; I wasn't too sure what you'd like so I decided maybe something you've never tried before? And that-' he adds, swivelling his head to Kacchan's mom who had now picked up the small, squeaky lip-stick lookalike. 'Is something you squeeze when you're stressed. My Mom told me that you hate that brand, so I figured...well... it's probably a stupid idea...'

'Deku.' Kacchan's voice, and it rang in his ear like toll of a funeral bell, as his boyfriend stepped close enough to share his very breath. 'I thought we said: _no. Gifts?!'_

'Why not?' his Mom demanded, punctuating the end of her question with a shrill squeak as her fingers tightly meshed against the small red toy; at her side her husband winced. Though, to Izuku's relief, it didn't prevent him from reaching down to seize the small sugared treat of a white mouse he was still holding in his hand. 'I bet you never got Inko, anything, did you, you rude brat?' She squeezed the toy again one last time, just to be defiant.

Kacchan glowered at her. 'What are you, five years old? Act your damn age, hag! Besides,' he added in a softer aside to Izuku, 'anything I would have got your Mom would have blown these lame-ass things out of the water!'

'Well maybe you can show me up, the next time you see her?' offered Izuku, wiggling slightly. 'More importantly Kacchan, are you ever going to let me go?' He paused and tilted his head slightly, noticing a dark look sweep over Kacchan's face as he did so. One that meant that Kacchan knew that the _right_ thing to do would be to let Izuku go and that yes, it would make his life _easier_ if he did so; but he had now _committed_ to a certain course of action and, being Kacchan, was now determined to see it through to the bitter end. So, trying to ignore the gazes of the two adults in front of him, Izuku gathered his courage, swept his fingers lightly over Kacchan's to distract him...and ended up sighing internally as it only made the dark look on Kacchan's face spread even further.

Alright, time for a new plan.

'Ah, Kacchan,' he began, his voice wavering into a tone that wasn't a complete act. 'Please stop, this is so embarrassing...' he trailed off purposefully, acknowledging that yes, there it was, that slight gleam of glee in Kacchan's eyes whenever Izuku was embarrassed enough to whine to him...because Kacchan was a sadist. Aaaaand that knowledge did absolutely nothing to ward off the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. 'I-I-I just don't felt comfortable with you _gifting_ your parents with a view of my stomach...'

The word choice did it, just as Izuku knew it would. Kacchan dropped his shirt instantly, a look of thunder on his face. _You little shit_ , his eyes screamed. And Izuku just smiled graciously at him, cheeks still rosy and warm.

'Ah, it's a little cold out here,' he remarked as glibly as he could. 'Shall we go in?'

He turned to offer a shaky smile to Kacchan's parents, who were now both staring at him as though he'd successfully tamed a wild lion that had been trying to nip off his fingers. Really, Izuku didn't see what all the fuss was about; they probably had similar ways of managing Kacchan too.

He shook himself. Because, urgh. Managing Kacchan? That made it sound as though Kacchan was either his pet, or an unruly pop idol, with Izuku as his, well, manager.

Kacchan's mom dumbly squeezed the fake lipstick between her fingers again. 'Huh,' she said, accompanied by the dying trill of a squeak. 'That's the first time I've seen _Kacchan_ speechless against someone other than us.'

Kacchan snarled, his palm lighting up with a series of tiny fireworks. 'Don't ever call me that again; I'll kill you. You're a fucking grown woman; what's so wrong with your tongue that you can't pronounce 't's anymore? Seriously, what the fuck give you the right to criticise the words I say, if you start pulling shit like that?!'

Kacchan's mom turned red, her hand moved up, but before it came down, Izuku shoved Kacchan towards the door with a gentle jostle of his hand.

'I can't wait to try your food, Bakugou-san!' he exclaimed. 'It's been years, but I'm sure it'll taste just as nice as I remember!'

The twin looks Kacchan and his mom threw him then, though one was directed over a shoulder and set in a low, simmering glower, spoke loud and clear. _You conniving little shit,_ they both said, though Kacchan's mom's had a playful sort of appreciation to it. _Buttering her/me up like that._

'Inko has definitely rubbed off on you,' Izuku heard the woman behind him say. 'If only I had her touch...'

No, Izuku wanted to say. Kacchan wouldn't be Kacchan if he wasn't ripping the world to shreds with the force of who he is; and I'm not sure who I'd be if I wasn't left stumbling in his wake every time.

'No,' he found himself telling her anyway,' I think Kacchan's just fine like this.' Something steely had unfolded in his voice, and he felt Kacchan stiffen at it's presence from beneath the sloping curl of his fingers, which were still attached and pushing against his boyfriend's shoulders. Whatever was in his voice seemed to allow them to travel through the gap Bakugo Masaru allowed to open between himself and the door frame without fanfare.

'Huh,' Izuku heard the woman say. 'Well, how about that?'

* * *

How about that, indeed. Mitsuki wasn't sure what to think. She had been up in arms, ready to propel Katsuki into the house by his ear, when she had first seen him man-handling Izuku outside their door. But on closer inspection, Izuku hadn't been quivering in her son's grasp, and he wasn't sporting any obvious bruises either. No, he had seemed...resigned to it. Which wasn't exactly a good sign either, Mitsuki warned herself; but on the other hand, it wasn't as though Izuku had been waiting passively for Katsuki to be done with him. The little shit had manipulated her son into letting him go, when he had decided enough was enough. Mitsuki had seen the resolve sweep over his face, before the embarrassment started clouding over it, and then that weedy pleading had poured out his mouth, just enough to make Mitsuki gag at how her son ate it up.

And then a miracle had happened; Katsuki's pleased-looking expression had tore in two as Izuku's deliberate word choice hit him right where it mattered, and the part of her that had always curled her lip at her son's more antagonistic tendencies started dancing up a jig inside her head.

And the most important part? Katsuki hadn't seen fit to retaliate. He had _let_ himself be pushed through the door.

Strange. She had never thought that Izuku would have had a bone of guile inside him. But here he was, inside her home, wide eyes taking in their furniture, their carpet, and remarking on 'ahhh, that's a nice picture, that wasn't there the last time I was here!'

'Of course not,' her son snarled, his shoulder knocking back against Izuku's rudely; and ah, there was the retaliation she had been waiting for. 'Why the hell would you expect everything to be the same?'

Izuku stared back at him, annoyed. 'I was just making conversation, Kacchan. Besides, I really do like the picture.'

'Oh, yeah?' Katsuki reared up, pressing his face a little too closely to Izuku's for her liking. 'What exactly do you like about it? The brushstrokes? The colours? The artist? I bet a dead-last like you can't even name him.'

Izuku's frown turned deeper. 'Well, Kacchan, that's true enough. But if you really want to know, I like the orange hue reflected in the windows; the way they burst across the glass is kind of like an _explosion._ '

Holy shit. The little shit was doing it again. And more importantly, it was making her son draw back, to square his shoulders and let out a hum most people would have considered a proper growl.

'...well, at least your taste isn't completely shit.'

Izuku laughed awkwardly and trotted into the kitchen. 'Is there anything you need help with Bakugo-san? Maybe some glasses that-oh! Everything been laid out already!'

Mitsuki suppressed a smirk and whirled into the kitchen after him. 'That's right! We don't expect our guests to do anything here! Everyone in this household is trained to be self- sufficient.'

Katsuki trailed in after them and let out a small cackle, his Dad hovering in the doorway.

'Guess that explains why you're such a **bitch**.'

A small drop of silence entered the kitchen there after the English insult was thrown out, while Izuku just stood there, eyes wide and looking absolutely horrified.

'KAC-'

Mitsuki promptly threw back her head and cackled as her husband brought one palm up and starting massaging his brow with the fingers attached. Still cackling (and honestly Izuku's horrified look being turned her way, now directed at _her_ reaction, certainly wasn't helping) Mitsuki waltzed over to her son, brought out some plastic salad tongs, and dug the spokes into her son's nest of hair. He promptly let out a roar of rage, crashed his fingers against the handle and let out a tiny denotation from his palm beneath, which crackled and splintered said salad-tongs into two nearly-charred pieces. There was another silence, brief enough to let a pin drop.

'If you hate the damn word so much, maybe you shouldn't have said 'trained' like we're nothing more than a bunch of dogs,' Katsuki gritted out, eyes at war with her face.

Across the kitchen, Izuku let out a squeak, wide eyes emerging from over the top of the hands he had now swiftly clamped across his mouth.

And Katsuki threw him an annoyed look in response. 'Oi, relax, would ya?' he said, an awkward fumble in his voice, one that Mitsuki savoured. Judging by the red eyes in front of her now determinedly racing away from her own, Katsuki knew it to. It didn't seem to stop him though. 'This shit-hole runs a bit differently than that whole 'hugs and crying' thing you got going on with your mom.'

Izuku seemed to bristle at this, as he let his hands drop from his mouth. 'I don't recall either of us crying when you when you were there with us!'

Katsuki sneered, as Mitsuki casually filed the information away. So did Inko know about these two then? Interesting.

'Don't call our house a shit-hole!' she exclaimed loudly, dragging the mutilated salad-tongs away from Katsuki's hand, and barely flinching as it snapped in half, something bearing more resemblance to a lump of coal than a plastic utensil dropping to the floor. Izuku couldn't seem to keep his eyes off it, a faint look of horror still present in on his face. _Is this normal?_ the twist in his expression seemed to say. _Why is this normal?!_

Poor kid. How Katsuki had managed to get his claws in his heart, Mitsuki couldn't ever hope to know.

'I'll call this house whatever I want to,' grumbled the monster in question; and yes, Mitsuki was indeed proud to label him as such within her own head. Raising him to be one, left little to no chance of the other monsters out there from tangling with him and robbing him of something that he wanted to keep. Like his life for instance. Mitsuki then casually slammed shut the lid on that box of awful thoughts _that_ opened up, like all those cold, paralysing memories of the hours Katsuki had spent as a prisoner of the villains months back. Not an experience worth repeating in her line of view.

But this, this experience right here, of watching her son and the way his eyes snapped back to Izuku, a faint line of pink brushing up from the back of his collar, this was something she wanted to see more of. 'What the hell, Deku, I never said the 'hugs and crying' shit was a bad thing! Besides-' and here a snide, sly grin raced up over his face -'you can't tell me you don't spend minutes sobbing into each other's arms at times. Just because you're both savvy enough not to do in front of guests, doesn't mean it never happens. I saw the way your mom turned on the waterworks when we made her that Italian shit last week. I bet she hugged you real hard later, when I went to go get that stupid 'leaning tower of Pisa' cake you tried to make.'

Izuku squeaked again, his mouth wavering into a line as choppy as the ocean, as the rest of him turned a mild pink, like a salmon left to fry. 'I-I-I, you're right! There's nothing wrong with it! So why are you talking about it like there is!?'

Her son's grin turned even meaner. 'Hah! I was right! You did hug back then!' He dropped the other end of the abused salad-tongs he was holding, eyes lighting up as Izuku flinched at the hard slap of sound it made as it hit and rolled over the floor.

Oh dear. Mitsuki recognised that look.

'What's the matter, Deku? Nobody around to hug it out this time?'

Why was her son such a bully? A sadist? A little...well, bitch? Well, okay, so Izuku did look cute, all flustered and hot under the collar like that, and Katsuki **had** always looked like he wanted to melt the rabbits and guinea pigs other children wanted to coo over between his hands instead, as opposed to handling them gently. So why should having, sorry, _handling_ a boyfriend be any different now that he was older?

Maturity, Mitsuki thought grimly, was not something she could say in all honesty had come to her son gracefully. In fact, it was barely present at all.

Then again, of course, Izuku was clearly neither a rabbit or a guinea pig. Because the red had now faded from his face slightly, his arms dropping to his side, and he was now staring up at Katsuki from under a furrowed brow, glare unwavering.

'I wouldn't say 'nobody', Kacchan,' he said, a heavy sort of strain to his voice. And then, with an odd, suicidal sort of courage he wrapped his arms around Kacchan and squeezed.

 _'Oi,'_ hissed her son instantly, harsh and furious, hands turning into claws beneath the barrier of Izuku's arms. 'You got a death wish or something?'

But the claws didn't turn and jab their way into Izuku's skin, didn't rise up and mar the other boy's back with tiny explosions. And after a moment, Izuku looked up again, smiled and said, 'well, you did ask, Kacchan.'

Her son's face screwed up. 'The fuck I did,' he grumbled, but seemed to concede the point.

From the corner of her eye, Mitsuki could see her husband watching them both with a wry sort of look in his eye.

Izuku stepped back and peered round the taunt ball of her son's shoulder, arms releasing themselves of their burden; in all honestly Mitsuki knew very few people who would be willing to brave hugging a walking talking human bomb, and the fact that Izuku could do it at all, made her estimation of him go up a few notches.

'Sorry,' Izuku says, a nervous laugh running though his voice. He looked embarrassed again. 'I got a little carried away; you probably don't want to see any of that stuff in your kitchen.'

Katsuki just turned round, sneered at them both and crossed his arms, hackles well and truly raised.

Mitsuki rolled her eyes. 'Kid, please,' she said grimly. 'That was less than vanilla; nothing at all compared to the porn out there you've probably watched already.' Izuku spluttered, her son grimaced, and Mitsuki carried on, voice rising slightly. 'And if you honestly think that's bad, that you shouldn't really be dating my hooligan of a son; he'll be making you do worse before the year's up.'

Katsuki stared at her in obvious outrage. 'The fuck do you think I'm gonna do to him? Don't make me sound like a damn pimp!'

Mitsuki clicked her fingers and motioned to the floor, where the two pieces of charred salad-tongs still lay, looking very sorry for themselves. 'Heel boy,' she said, a smirk present in every dropped word. 'Clean this shit up.'

Katsuki sent her a heavy glower. 'Bitch,' he said lowly again, as though he hadn't learnt the first time.

'Kacchan,' hissed Izuku, elbowing him in the side; and rather roughly too, Mitsuki noted with approval. Good. Looks like retaliation wasn't needed from her this time round. 'Don't call her that.'

Katsuki turned, a rather toothy grin in place, one that Izuku couldn't seem to help but scowl at. 'Aw, betcha can't even say it right,' he whispered, malicious glee dancing through every word. 'I've heard your pronunciation in English class; you're as bad as you were in middle school.' Izuku scowled even more heavily than before and pulled away.

'I should hope not,' he said primly, marching off through the doorway to seize hold of the blue dustpan and brush Mitsuki had left propped up beside a nearby cabinet; growing up with Katsuki's temper had taught her to always have it on standby, especially since, occurrences like the now dearly departed salad-tongs, happened more often than they perhaps should. 'I would never call anyone a v- _vitch,_ let alone my own mother.'

Aw, cute. Like most normal Japanese students it seemed he had trouble distinguishing 'b' from 'v' phonetically. The thought was quickly driven out of her head by the scowl and oncoming march her son developed as he stalked over to Izuku and yanked the cleaning tools from his hands.

'I'll do it,' he hissed. 'You...go sit and behave like an actual guest, for once in your damn life.'

Mitsuki rubbed her fingers together absently, noting the way Izuku blinked, caught a little off guard, before a smile, sweet as sugar, spun its way onto his face. And really, what had her son done to deserve a sight like that? Even more so, when all Izuku said in response to his heated command, was a simple, 'okay, Kacchan.'

She stared down as her son knelt, the blackened edges of the newly destroyed cutlery rapidly disappearing into the pan with one, smooth motion of the brush from his hand. Still, a garish flower pattern shone through beneath the charred remnants, almost defiantly, before it was raised and transported over to the bin, and Mitsuki had to fight down her smile at the sight.

Katsuki still sent her a suspicious look all the same. 'The hell you smirking about?' he grumbled, as he propped the dustpan and brush back against its usual resting place. Only to develop a look of long suffering as he turned and saw Izuku hovering with indecision over the chairs arranged around the table.

'Holy shit, Deku, just pick a place and sit!'

Izuku stared over at her, a torn look on his face. 'Is it really okay if I sit wherever I want? I don't want to mess up your usual arrangement, if there's places you usually sit at!'

Mitsuki smirked. 'How about here?' she purred, walking over and reaching out with one long arm to yank out the seat Masaru usually preferred. From over her should she saw her husband shoot her a look of abject betrayal.

'Um, thank you.' Izuku shuffled onto the chair with a wavy smile as she held it out for him, thoroughly unaware of how the dynamics of the Bakugo household were being shaken apart over his head. Even more so, when Katsuki gave her a defiant look, eyes quickly flicking over his father with a harried expression, before he yanked out the seat _she_ usually sat at and wedged himself against the table next to Izuku.

Mitsuki couldn't in all honesty say she cared that much. Not when she saw Izuku jump slightly the next second and send Katsuki a puzzled, searching look. Only for her shit of a son stare back over the table as though he couldn't see Izuku's eyes pecking away at the taunt frown on his face, locking his own eyes onto the wall ahead. Right, Mitsuki thought. Because the paint there was so interesting.

Well, that shit just wasn't going to fly. She had no idea why Izuku had flinched, but if it was because her son had taken to kicking him under the table, there would be hell to pay.

And so, causally, as though this sort of shit happened all the time, Mitsuki flicked her elbow against a cloth set against the sink. Oops , she thought as she bent down to sweep it up with her fingers, letting her eyes quickly rake against the underside of the table. And there...was no kicking. Or pinching. Instead her eyes rested on the knot of fingers and thumb balanced across the space between Izuku's chair and her son's. They were holding hands. **_They were holding hands._**

Mitsuki reared up like a whale desperate for air. She ignored her son's eyes roaming the side of her face; clearly he wasn't fooled by her play-acting for a second. But Izuku didn't give any sudden jerks or flinches, so apparently her little hellion hadn't decided to jerk his hand away in shame or embarrassment.

She had enough time to wonder why, precisely, Katsuki had felt the need to drag Izuku's hand into his own, before her husband's hand clamped down on her shoulder. And despite herself, she gave a little start.

'I'm a little famished,' Masaru told her with a shy smile. 'Perhaps it's time we got some food?'

* * *

Izuku stared down at the ramen in front of him. He had been expecting, well, he wasn't quite sure, what he had been expecting. A curry with a dozen red chilli peppers sprinkled and mixed in with the orange-brown run of meet and buttery sauce, maybe. Perhaps even some Ebi Chili. But no. Slammed down in front of him was a blue and white striped bowl, filled to the brim with rich brown-red broth, noodles swirled in beneath like fronds of seaweed.

'I'm grateful for receiving it,' Izuku mumbled humbly, taking up his chopsticks and swirling them round and into the mix of beef and...ah, oh dear. Chilli peppers. He chanced a small, timid bite, thoroughly aware of Katsuki's hand still squeezing his own. And then, when his mouth didn't explode into watery pain, only having to contend with only a mild surge of heat washing over his tongue, he took another. And another.

'What the fuck?'

Izuku felt a jerk at his wrist and then his fingers were left clutching only empty air as Kacchan stared down at him heavily at his side.

'Why aren't you gulping down water as though your miserable life depended on it?'

Izuku frowned, taking another bite almost provocatively. 'It's good,' he offered up. 'Shouldn't you be happy about that?'

Already he felt a bit weak, without Kacchan's hand to steady him. His nerves had been wrecking him, ever since he stepped in here, despite what Kacchan's parents probably believed. The fact that they weren't currently staring at him like he was an alien, meant that either his acting skills had gotten better, or he was keeping everything together well enough to pass as an actual functional human being, rather than the 'freak' Kacchan sometimes accused him of being. Still though. It had been nice to feel Kacchan's strong hand grasp at his own for a few seconds.

Get it together, Izuku, he thought firmly. Kacchan's counting on you. It had not escaped his notice after all, at just how high-strung Kacchan was acting. Well, he always was. But tonight, something was really rankling at him. And honestly, Izuku wasn't blind. The body language between Kacchan's parents was off, his mom keeping herself turned from her husband, arms mostly crossed, while his dad was freezing up in the doorway. Izuku watched them now, as they navigated themselves to the spare seats left over to them, eyes never quite making contact with each other. He frowned.

Which in turn, seemed to inspire Kacchan's own frown into becoming a glare. Then, without warning, his set of chopsticks soared into view, almost taking out Izuku's nose with the piece of meat they held clamped in their ends.

'Oi, eat it.'

Izuku looked at him in disbelief.

'I have my own portion, thanks,' he said slowly. Because was Kacchan in danger of having a stroke? What, precisely was happening here?

Kacchan's glare became a glower. 'Eat. It,' he snarled.

Izuku gave up. 'Fine.' Then, almost as quickly as Kacchan had, he seized a bit of beef from his own bowl and arched it out in front of Kacchan's mouth. 'Swap?' he offered diplomatically.

It seemed to work as a few of Kacchan's wrinkles smoothed out, settling his expression back into its default stoniness. 'Sure,' he said.

Then, without issue, he opened his mouth and chomped down onto the end of Izuku's chopsticks, hard. Izuku could feel them grind together between his fingers under the pressure of the jaws at the other end, snapping together with all the ruthless finality of a shark's. Said shark was now watching him from below slightly-lowered lashes, as though he knew the hot flips Izuku's stomach was currently doing at the sight, Kacchan all low and pliant, head bowed as though he was offering himself up to Izuku.

Izuku knew he had only one choice to save himself; so he arched forward like an over-eager fish and nibbled at the bait Kacchan was still hovering in front of his face, the beef waggling out like a worm. It hit the back of his mouth like a hot splash, chilli oil and who knows what else slathered over its moist crumble.

Almost instantly, Izuku choked, his mouth on fire and his chopsticks flying out of his hand, which Kacchan, naturally, caught with one smooth movement. The next second, Izuku's hand found a glass of water, which he then proceeded to chug down frantically. He couldn't help but glare at Kacchan over the rim.

Kacchan smiled back at him. 'Figures,' he said. 'Mum always likes to take it easy on the guests.' He reached over and casually flicked Izuku on the forehead with his chopsticks; but only, Izuku was glad to notice, once he was done with his final swallow. 'Wondered why you weren't acting as though your tongue was on fire.'

Kacchan's mom just gave him a look of unrepentant disgust. 'Really, brat? Really? What the hell? Damn, at this rate, you're never gonna get laid.'

Oh dear, now it was Mr Bakugo who was choking. Izuku felt terrible. Not that he should, it was just, Izuku tended to feel terrible about a lot of things in general, especially when other people looked like they were in pain.

'Ignore him, Deku,' Kacchan said, giving an unneeded and deliberately artful twirl of Izuku's chopsticks, as though they were his drumsticks, before placing them back in the correct bowl. 'You have enough issues of your own to worry about without taking his on board as well.'

For some reason, his father looked a little guilty at that remark.

Izuku scowled, rolling his tongue through his mouth. It felt scorched, as though he had been kissing a dragon. _Maybe I won't give Kacchan a gift of any sort, tonight,_ he thought grimly. _That'll show him._

But not teach him. That, Izuku knew, was something beyond any deity's reach.

Not that it mattered, he supposed. Izuku didn't need to pray or wish, in order to get Kacchan to learn something, not anymore.

Still...

'I don't think I'm that bad, Kacchan,' he croaked out, wincing at just how sore his voice sounded. 'I'm pretty normal, I think.'

But Kacchan just gave him a look, one that on anyone else would have appeared contemptuous. But to Izuku's keen eyes, always tracking and tracing every small, wry flicker of muscle that would perch under Kacchan's skin to breathe entirely new meanings into the facial expressions he pushed out like punches...well. There was genuine fondness in the grim and dirty line of his smile, not to mention the slightly sloppy softness glinting in his red eyes above. It wasn't Izuku's problem if others couldn't see it.

'Deku,' his boyfriend told him. 'You're so far from normal it isn't even fucking funny. In fact, you're the worst.'

* * *

 _'You're the worst,' Mitsuki had told him, sobbing, as he handed her a small ring he had spent weeks agonising over._

 _'You're the worst,' she had told him again, years later, when they realised that they would soon have three people to worry about in their family instead of two._

And:

 _'You're the worst,' she had spat, venom written in every line of her face, when Masaru had stood there hours ago, hands fretting at each other and wondering aloud, how he was supposed to react to Izuku, who was not a girl and yet, still someone, according to Katsuki, who had managed to strike all the criteria boxes of a partner his son would want to...be intimate with._

And now, here he was, stuck at a table with the very person he didn't know how to react to. Midoriya Izuku who had been nothing but nice and polite and maaaybe a bit handsy with his son, but honestly Katsuki had brought some of that on himself.

Masaru took another good look at the boy. Short, plain, not ugly but not handsome either. His eyes were still big and childish, a lot like Inko's, now that he thought of it, and he wondered just how well that would translate into the adult face Izuku still had to grow into. Then again, if Katsuki was into someone for looks alone...Masaru stopped himself and winced. He couldn't picture that happening. Ever.

'Oh,' Izuku was now saying. 'Sorry, Kacchan. But, well, you're not exactly normal either, you know.'

'I know,' his son boasted. 'I'm the fucking **best**. Why else would you be here, suffering one of the worst family dinners I've ever had?'

Was it Masaru's imagination, or did Katsuki's eyes flicker to him for a second?

'I wouldn't go that far,' Izuku said. 'I found _my_ portion of ramen to be very nice, until you decided to be mean and trick me into eating some of yours.'

Masaru frowned. It disturbed him, Izuku's tone of voice, the way it wavered between firm and awkward, attempting to keep a mild sort of peace. It reminded him of his own. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

'Well,' he said, 'at least you scored an indirect kiss, Katsuki; if your mother's right that's all the action you'll be getting tonight after the stunt you just pulled.'

There was silence. And then, oh kami-sama, he hoped he wasn't imagining it, a burst of fondness travelled up into his wife's eyes.

'I knew there was a reason I married you,' she whispered, yet still keeping her voice loud enough to hear.

And then Katsuki damn near lost his shit. Or so his darling wife would put it hours later, laughing against his shoulder in the bed she would allow him to share with her that night.

'Masaru,' she would exclaim excitedly, tugging him down. 'This night was the best!'

Although, much to Masaru's delight, it only got better from there on out.

* * *

'Tonight was the worst,' Katsuki grouched, sinking down further into his scarf. The train rattled behind him, the cool pane of the glass against his hair doing little to soothe the headache he felt at recalling the damn-near soppy look on his mother's face as she had used her damn come-hither voice at his fucking father.

And the damn mother-fucker ate it up. Literally. Katsuki would not have been surprised to see the man's tongue rolling out of his mouth like a dog in heat.

'You didn't have to scream at them like that,' Deku pointed out, feeling the need to be the helpful piece of shit he clearly thought he had to be. Not that he ever was.

Katsuki snorted, but was slightly mollified when Deku snuggled up to him closely, his stupid bird-nest's of hair rubbing and curling its way into Katsuki's cheek. Now _that's_ the kind of help he could deal with; Deku was warm, hard muscle packing a welcome punch beneath the coated arm he wrapped around Katsuki's loosely. Honestly Katsuki wouldn't mind if he tightened his grip. He wasn't a weak piece of shit, after all.

'I damn near flipped the table on them,' he admitted, feeling something slap at his heartstrings when Izuku snorted out a quick laugh at the mental image. 'Maybe I should have done; we could have got out of that death-trap even earlier then.'

But Deku smiled, that long, slow curl of a line drifting over his face, the one that more days than not, Katsuki couldn't be bothered to chase away.

'I thought it was great,' his boyfriend admitted with the sort of ease Katsuki would never understand. 'At least you know they're happy together, and that neither of them are lonely now that we're all living away from home.'

Katsuki flashed him a quick look at that; it was no secret that Midoriya Inko lived alone, and that Deku worried and fretted for her because of it.

'...there's still no need for them so be so disgusting about it,' he growled out determinedly. 'Betcha' they wouldn't have been so keen on us smacking face in front of them.'

Deku snorted at that. 'Yeah; your dad certainly wouldn't have,' he said mildly and Katsuki flashed him another quick, searching look. He wasn't surprised Deku had picked up on it, but it still irked him a little that he had managed to notice it at all. Mostly because of Deku's stupid martyr complex; the last thing he needed was his boyfriend fretting and shaking, and deciding he needed to do stupid shit in order to win over Katsuki's idiotic father. No, the only thing Deku should be worried over, as far as Katsuki was concerned, was surpassing All Might's expectations; and Katsuki's too for that matter.

'Screw him,' he said firmly, tugging his arm from Deku's and wrapping it round his shoulder instead. 'He can't weigh in on who I decide to fuck.'

Deku sputtered. 'Kacchan,' he said, sounding scandalised; though he didn't pull away Katsuki noted smugly. Of course, it probably helped that there was hardly anybody else on the carriage with them; if there had been, Deku would not have been nearly as touchy-feely as he was being right now.

'So, is my Mom right?' he asked, teeth baring in a grin. 'You gonna hold out on me tonight, just because I scorched your tongue a little?'

Deku gave him a dry look.

'I'm going to hold out on you because you're mean and don't deserve nice things,' he stated firmly.

But Katsuki wasn't fooled; Izuku was still acting like he was glued into his side after all.

 _We'll see Deku_ , he though snidely, wrinkling his nose as an errant curl of green brushed against his mouth. _We'll see._

* * *

 _ **Note:** _But you guys sure won't.


End file.
